Get Set
by Lopsided Whiskey Grin
Summary: An unexplainable rift, a break in destiny, can give Afton a second chance, but as the future that should have been and the reality that is separates before her, will she be able to hold onto Daryl AND her sanity?  An AU/sequel for On Your Mark
1. Chapter 1

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

_"I got this one."_ Words both familiar and foreign, spoken so _simply_ before everything changed, echoed relentlessly through the recesses of Afton's consciousness. She groggily tried pushing them away, wanting only to settle into the soft and blissful sensation of a dreamless sleep that beckoned to her sweetly.

But the words were deafeningly insistent and rammed forward, jerking her rudely from her gentle tumble into the black.

She blinked, dazed, against the warm afternoon sunlight that was twinkling off of the windows of the skyscrapers surrounding her. She found, with numb surprise, that she was standing on the double yellow lines of Atlanta's I-20 and could not remember how she had gotten there; could not remember _why_ she was there.

Her mind blundered through her confusion, searching frantically through memories that were hazy, fragmented, and just out of reach. A faded, well-loved photo, a pink feather held tightly between calloused fingers, a deeply tearful kiss. She tried desperately to hold onto these, to investigate them more closely, but lost her grasp as she was suddenly struck by a headache, piercing and sharp, sparking hot behind her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but left her reeling, nonetheless.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and caught the murmur of voices over her shoulder. She turned slightly and was relieved to see faces she recognized: the men from her group, standing in the road next to her brother, and Daryl.

_Daryl_. She looked hopefully to his eyes and felt her breath hitch in her chest as pain and overwhelming sorrow, unwarranted, unexpected, settled heavy on her heart. Her mind continued its frenzied search, leafing through memories like old, disorganized papers in a filing cabinet, but could not find a reason as to why just the sight of him would cause her to feel such welling, unbearable sadness. She wasn't entirely sure she _wanted_ to remember the cause of such hurt, especially since she was almost positive that it was her fault.

Uncertainty ticked across Daryl's face before being replaced by a comfortable and encouraging smile. All the feelings of grief and loss were quickly and gleefully forgotten, pushed away at the sight of that lopsided grin.

His gaze shifted from her as he looked past her up the street.

Afton turned back the direction she had been facing and saw a Walker stumbling haphazardly between a row of abandoned vehicles not twenty yards from them. She glanced to her hands as the familiarity of her surroundings finally began to sink in and saw, with not much surprise, that she was holding her bow, already drawn and ready, with a pink and black arrow nocked snuggly between her fingers.

She took half a step forward, the bowstring already trembling in her grasp, and caught, from the corner of her eye, movement in the passenger seat of a deserted sedan behind the Walker she already held a mark on.

And she knew in that moment, without a shadow of a fucking doubt, that the glimpse of that sneaky zombie bastard was all it took to alter the course of her existence; her, Afton Evelyn O'Connell, a woman whose life was built on _giving_ second chances, was somehow, impossibly, given her own.

Not taking any time to examine the absolute craziness of what had just happened, or the millions of questions and internal arguments that it had inadvertently stirred up, Afton released her arrow.

The Walker in the street was still crashing to the ground in a flourish of flopping, useless limbs as she stepped forward, reloading her bow.

She strode, purposefully, to the car holding the Walker who, in another life, in a dream, in a fucking alternate universe, had killed her. The residual echoes of what _should_ have happened clamored for purchase in her mind._ I'm dying, Daryl is holding me, I can hear Brian crying_, _I am so fucking scared. _And all at once, the fear and pain and keening sadness she and Daryl had both felt came rushing forward and nearly overwhelmed her.

But, as the Walker turned in the passenger seat and reached its hand out to her through the open door, all emotion was put on hold and was replaced by cool, lethal determination.

She grasped the Walker's outstretched hand and yanked it out of the car. It landed with a heavy thud and lay sprawled on its back in the street before her, snarling and snapping viciously.

She slammed her foot down on its shoulder, hearing the brittle snap of its clavicle and not caring, needing only to pin it in place for the time it would take for her arrow to find its home in the zombie's diseased head.

"I don't know what happened," she whispered, "I don't know why. But these voices need to fucking _stop_."

Her fingers slipped off of the bowstring. The Walker stopped moving. And after a beat, the voices continued. Daryl's, Brian's, her own:

_you're all I have left _

_what do we do? _

_I love you both so much_

Tears began to well in her eyes and cascade down her cheeks. She didn't know if the voices would ever stop, but she _did_ know that she could not live her life constantly feeling as if she was being torn in two different directions. And what would Daryl think if he ever found out was going on inside her head?

She brought a shaky hand up to brush her tears away, hearing him walk up behind her with the rest of the group, and felt a soft tickle at her fingertips as she grazed the feather tied into her braided hair. The conflicting and incessant voices quieted at the fleeting touch.

Afton breathed out a relieved sigh and quickly set her bow down to loosen the braid. She clutched the freed fletch into her closed fist, just as Daryl came up to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Helluva shot, girl! I didn't even _see_ the fucker in the car!" he exclaimed, his smoked southern drawl muffled against her hair.

She wanted to cry out with joy, and not only because the voices had stopped. It seemed like forever since she had felt the warmth of being sheltered in his arms.

Brian came up behind her, clapping his hand on her shoulder as Daryl released her from their embrace. "Nice! Guess you learned a thing or two from me after all." He grinned, handing her the arrows he had pulled from her kills.

Afton looked up at her brother as she reached over her shoulder to drop them into her quiver. When was the last time she had actually seen him smile? Last summer when she had visited him on base at least, definitely not any time since they had been reunited in the _Vato's_ hideout.

That strange leafing-through-files feeling abraded her memories again. _I was there because I hit my head. Knocked me the fuck out._ She clenched the fletch in her palm tight enough for her nails to press indented crescent shapes into her skin. _The nurse told me I had a concussion. That explains the voices, right?_

She shook her head slightly and offered Brian a weak smile. "I had the best teacher." She looped her arm around his waist and squeezed him in a side-hug.

Rick stepped forward and bent before her, grasping her bow from the street. "Thanks for clearin' the way." He hefted the weapon in his hand, testing its weight before passing it to her.

He adjusted the duffle bag across his chest and turned back to the group. "Let's keep movin'; it's not much further."

They all set off for the truck, Afton automatically falling in step beside Daryl, relaxing her grip on the feather in her hand.

_Stay with me Afton_

"Hmm?" she looked over at him, sure she hadn't heard him right.

Daryl glanced at her, one eyebrow cocked. "I didn't say nothin'."

She pulled in a shaky breath and put on her best "I'm normal and everything is fine" face. She saw concern flash in his eyes, but turned her head quickly to look at Rick and Glenn, walking alongside her, and caught them in the middle of their conversation.

"Admit it," Glenn was saying, "You only came back to Atlanta for the hat."

Rick pushed the brim of said hat up off his brow. "Alright, but don't tell no one."

Daryl looked over at Rick as they walked. "Hate givin' away half our guns and ammo."

Rick only chuckled. "Not nearly half. We have enough to protect ourselves and then some."

Brian snorted, coming up beside them, rifle held out in front of him. "Even if they do have less than half, how long you think they really got?"

Rick looked thoughtfully to the shotgun in his hand. "How long do any of us?"

Afton swallowed back her tears, willing things to go back to normal, or at least whatever passed as normal these days._ I'm gonna be okay, right? _ She glanced down at the bright pink feather nestled securely in her palm. _I don't know…_

Glenn sucked in a sharp breath, snapping Afton's head up. "Oh my God."

The group looked to an empty and utterly deserted street.

Daryl stared, slack-jawed. "Where the hell is our van?"

"We left it right here," Brian said, tunneling his fingers through this hair. "Who would take it?"

Rick's shotgun fell limply at his side. "Merle."

Afton saw Daryl's whole body tense at the name. He sighed, scrubbing his hand roughly against his cheek. "He's gonna be takin' some vengeance back to camp."

"Shit." Afton looked over at T-dog as he slowly continued, a terrified stare widening his eyes, "I'm the only one that's got to worry. I'm the one that dropped the key."

"I know my brother better than all y'all." Daryl spoke quietly, glancing to the ground before raising his head to look thoughtfully at the empty space that had once contained their truck. "And Merle ain't gonna deal out his justice to just one of us, it's gonna be the whole goddamn camp. So, we best get our asses movin'."

There was a gentle rustle as everyone rearranged and adjusted their gear before continuing on in silence.

Daryl stepped next to Afton as she began walking, sliding his hand firmly around hers, squeezing reassuringly, just as she desperately squeezed the pink feather, her secret talisman, her silent reprieve from the voices, in her opposite hand.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

Daryl would be the first to admit it. Wouldn't be proud to, but at least he'd fuckin' admit it: normal human interaction was not exactly his strong suit. Not that it was entirely his fault, though. Being raised by an alcoholic, piss-poor excuse of a father who was particularly fond of giving regular beatings, and a manipulative, non-existent older brother who popped up between stints in the slammer to offer him "important life lessons" ("life lessons" that Merle was no doubt on his way to mete out to everyone at camp at this very moment) had pretty much screwed Daryl out of ever being able to have an ordinary relationship.

But even then, surpassing all of that, he had at least learned enough to know when he looked at Afton that something was different; something was not quite _right._

He glanced to her, then down to their connected hands as they walked quickly back to camp in the deepening twilight that signaled the end of the longest day of his life. A day, he would soon find, that was _far_ from being over.

He looked back to her face, hoping like hell to see the old Afton gazing at him in the mischievously sexy way that he had come to love so damn much, just to show him that she was okay, and on a more selfish level, to quiet the uneasiness building inside him. Out of all of her expressions that he had catalogued so far, with more being added in every moment he looked at her, Thoughtful With Bottom Lip Caught Between Teeth, Curious With Brows Scrunched Together, Disappointed Frustration With Pout Wrinkling Chin, none had compared to Mischievously Sexy With Eyebrow Raised. Although, Pleasured With Lips Parted On Moaning Sigh was strongly vying for that first place.

Daryl grinned as the image of Afton, lying flushed and deliciously satisfied beneath him, flooded his memory and immediately made his cargos feel just a little too tight. Chuckling lightly, he squeezed her hand and searched her face, a small, mischievous spark gleaming in his own eyes.

And just like that, with just that one look, all of the hope he had been struggling to hold onto disappeared. She didn't turn to him, she didn't smile. She continued staring forward stiffly, purposefully avoiding eye contact.

He bristled angrily at her indifference and his first instinct was to pull his hand away. It was the only way he had survived this fucking long; you get your heart stomped on, you back away, you shut down, you move on. Why stay where you're not wanted?

He was just about to snatch his hand from hers when he felt her fingers tighten weakly around his. He quickly glanced to her face and saw her looking at him, a half-hearted smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, before she turned abruptly and began staring forward again.

A sickening chill rippled through him and his heart immediately began beating harder. That fleeting glance had been enough, _more_ than enough, to show him that what he had at first mistaken for cool impassiveness was, in fact, poorly masked fear. It was almost imperceptible, but it was still there: the look of a scared animal caught in a trap. He cursed himself viciously for not seeing it earlier.

But the question now was, what reason did she have to be so fearful? He didn't think it was him, and she had just taken out those two Walkers in Atlanta with such ease that he didn't think it was the imminent threat of a zombie attack either. So, what then?

He was about to draw her to him to ask, to _beg_ her to tell him what the fuck was wrong, when Rick, who was leading the group, stopped short and turned to them. He pulled his hat off and swiped his arm against his sweaty forehead before speaking.

"Okay, we got about a mile and a half up this dirt road 'til we're home free. Ya'll up for a little jog?"

Nobody protested, but Daryl was sure they all looked as miserable, tired, and beat down as he felt. He had been awake and moving since dawn that morning and had gone through so many ups and downs (downs mostly, but finding Afton in Atlanta had been a serious up) that he was nearing dangerously closer to exhaustion with each and every fucking step he was taking.

He sighed and released Afton's hand reluctantly to pull his crossbow from his shoulder. If they were gonna be sprinting the rest of the way to camp, he'd rather do it without his Horton smashing into his fuckin' back with each stride.

He grasped the bow in one hand and turned to Afton just as she was adjusting her backpack on her shoulders. A ghost of a smile briefly touched her lips, but the humor, however weak it was, didn't come close to reaching her eyes.

"Afton," he began, but found he didn't know what to ask, didn't even know how. And so he stepped to her, cupped her cheek with his free hand, and did the only thing he knew felt _right_.

The kiss couldn't last nearly as long as he had wanted, not with the urgency of having to return to camp, but he tried his very best to pour every questioning plea, every ounce of encouragement, every fiber of his strength into it, desperately willing away the fear trembling across her lips.

He pulled back from her when he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the group began moving on, his hand falling limply at his side, heart sinking numbly in his chest. She still held that painfully fearful look under a thin veil of composure and he knew he hadn't done enough, hadn't come close.

When she began jogging on ahead, not even stopping to wait for him, he realized that if he didn't do _something_, she'd be lost to him forever. A steel coil of anxiety settled heavy in his stomach as he sprinted to catch up and keep pace with her.

He racked his brain as he ran along with the group, examining every possible scenario that may have caused Afton to become so distant, and every possible solution that he could think of to bring her back. His temples were beginning to throb as they neared the last quarter mile to camp, but he still kept coming up empty handed.

He looked over to her and his gaze slipped down to her hands, so strong and graceful, one gripping her compound bow and the other…

Daryl squinted in the failing light, trying to bring her hand into focus as it swung briskly by her side. It was drawn into a fist so tightly clenched that the knuckles were white.

He reached his hand out, trying to grab at her wrist as she was running, curiosity mixing fluidly with dread, wanting to pry open her fingers to see what she was hiding, when a loud, shrill scream pierced the enveloping quiet of the night.

The scream was quickly followed by three succinct small caliber shots and the deafening crack of a shotgun. Then all hell broke loose with the sound of shouts and cries and wails alike.

Daryl's hand fell away from Afton and immediately latched onto his crossbow. He broke into a dead run, followed closely by the rest of the group.

He had tried to mentally prepare himself for meeting Merle face to face, for the revenge his brother would take as payment for his hand, but nothing, _nothing_ could prepare Daryl for what he would see when he crested the hill and stepped into the clearing of their camp.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

_*As always, reviews are graciously and warmly welcomed*_

Chaos. It was the only word Afton could think of that would describe exactly what she was seeing. Complete and utter chaos.

She stood in the cloaking darkness of the humid summer night next to Daryl in the clearing of his camp and watched, disbelieving as figures (human or Walker, she couldn't tell) darted and scrambled in every direction, their faces haggard and distorted by shadow and gore and blood in the light cast by two large campfires.

The sound of screams, earsplitting and agonized, clashed violently with haunted and hungry groans completing the scene of carnage that would have been more at home in a horror film.

And just for a moment, Afton was immobilized by the shock of what she was seeing. It too closely resembled the night she had lost her father, had lost Paul, had narrowly escaped with her own life, and all she wanted to do was turn and run in the opposite direction.

It wasn't until Daryl stepped next to her, crossbow leveled into the dark that she found she was able to move forward. She looked down to her closed fist as her fingers slowly opened to reveal her pink feather, damp with sweat, still nestled firmly in her palm. She squeezed it for reassurance one last time before stuffing it down her shirt into her sports bra, hoping against hope that just having it against her skin would work as well at keeping the voices away as having it in her hand.

Dragging in a steadying breath, she reached back to her quiver and swiftly nocked an arrow. She pulled the bowstring back, drawing it in line with the corner of her mouth and let fly at the first Walker she could positively identify. It went down with a heavy thud and she rushed forward, pulling her arrow out of the back of its skull before loading it again. Fetching arrows had been her least favorite chore during target practice in the field behind Dad's house; funny how the event of a zombie apocalypse could change somebody's view on reduce, reuse, recycle.

Afton heard movement behind her and spun around, bow drawn again, only to see, with abject horror, that she was aiming right between Brian's eyes. She swung the arrow's aim to the ground and fired into the dirt, her arms too shaky to be able to safely disengage the bow without accidentally shooting her brother.

His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open in shock, a look that may have been comical under different circumstances.

"Holy shit, Afton!" he cried when he was able to speak.

Afton, who was only happy he was still alive, laughed nervously and punched him playfully in the arm. "Close one, huh?"

His surprise slowly faded and he flashed her a winning smile. "Any closer and I'd be _really_ fuckin' sorry! And by the way," he said swinging the bloodstained butt of his long-barrel .22 in front of her, "I already got three of the bastards. Try and keep up, will ya?" He chuckled heartily as he jogged off.

Afton watched his retreating back and wished she could be as eternally positive as Brian always had been. He was the one that was always cheering her up when she brought home a broken heart, always there to give her advice, and when he had announced that he was following their father's footsteps into the Army she had mourned his departure to boot camp as bitterly as she would have an unexpected death, _as bitterly as he had mourned mine_. The vision of her 'other life' flashed in her mind: Brian on his knees beside her, face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling on a sob. The feelings of grief and despair it dredged up were so powerful that she gasped and slapped her hand to her heart, pressing the pink feather more closely against her breast, needing to feel its inexplicably soothing qualities.

She found herself suddenly looking for Daryl in the madness of camp. This was too big for her to be able to deal with by herself, the false memories too much to carry alone. She remembered, with regret, the wounded and concerned look on his face on their trek back to this camp and knew she should have told him then, but she had been so unsure, and still was, about what his reaction would be when she told him that she feared she may be going crazy. But, she realized sadly, it really didn't fucking matter. She _had_ to tell him, even if it meant he would push her away, just so she wasn't alone in her misery anymore.

She bent and retrieved her arrow from the dirt at her feet and made her way across the darkened clearing, taking out three Walkers by one of the campfires and two more by a hulking, shadowed RV. She had hopefully outnumbered Brian's kills by now, she thought with a smile, bringing her bow up again. The camp was eerily still as she scanned her surroundings. The gunfire had ceased and even the sobbing of the victims had quieted; everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for another wave of attacks - attacks that thankfully did not come.

Afton released a sigh she didn't know she was holding and her eyes searched for Daryl. She saw him leaning against the tailgate of a pickup truck, bare arms crossed over his chest, studying her. The strength of his fight was evident in the sweat gleaming across his biceps and the dark patch shadowing down the front of his shirt. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him looking so raw and masculine and intense, and she felt the familiar warm bloom of desire starting low in her stomach and beginning to spread outward, same as she had felt the first time she had seen him step out from behind that oak near her camp. It was all she could do not to grab his shirtfront and drag him into the nearest tent she could find.

But when she looked to his eyes and saw the seriousness there, she knew she had to tamp down the craving building inside her – she owed him an explanation and distracting her anxiety would, at this point, hurt more than help.

She sighed and hitched her bow over her shoulder as she started walking toward him. It seemed her heart began beating faster with every step she took. What would he think when she told him about the visions, the voices? He'd have every right to turn her away; she would leave if he asked, (because hadn't she already asked the same of him just yesterday?) but she'd do it with a broken spirit because going on in a world that had already been fucked over and left to die, without Daryl, with only the echoes of false memories for company, would take more of her than she had left to give.

Tears began to crowd her eyes as she stopped and stood before him. He opened his arms to her without hesitation and pulled her close against the hard plane of his chest, the feel of him around her solid and safe and right. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head and all at once she felt so very _tired_. Tired of running, tired of hurting, tired of the hopelessness that was so fucking _easy_ to find in this dead new world.

So, it wasn't really any surprise when she broke down into sobs in his arms; she just didn't have the strength to hold them back anymore.

Daryl simply held her and let her cry herself out, stroking her back and murmuring soothing words against her neck. And when she felt like she couldn't possibly squeeze any more tears out of her puffy eyes, he pulled her back and brushed his mouth across her lips.

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers, his hands tangling in her hair. "Afton, baby, please tell me what's wrong," he whispered pleadingly.

"I know. I need to, but not here," she choked around the hot lump in her throat.

He grasped her hand and led her gently across the camp's clearing between the two fire pits. She looked over as they walked and saw Brian helping with damage control, moving bodies into piles, and Rick and T-dog triaging the wounded. She knew that this camp needed Daryl, needed them both, but in this moment she needed him to herself.

They walked to a darkened grove of trees near camp and Afton heard the rushing water of a creek before she saw it. Daryl sat with a grunt into the grasses at the riverbed and looked up to her expectantly.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Afton realized how much the full moon illuminated even the darkest corners of her world, if only she would take the time to see. Pale, silver light glinted off the tips of Daryl's hair and settled softly about his shoulders. It sparkled against the moving water in the river, and she saw, _really_ saw that there was always light, even when things seemed so very dark.

She slowly lowered herself next to Daryl, feeling the close press of his hip against hers, and reached her hand down the front of her shirt. His eyebrows shot up, curious, for an instant until he saw that she was pulling the pink fletch from her collar. She held it up in the moonlight for a moment before lowering it to her lap, trying desperately to find the words to say.

"Something happened to me this afternoon, Daryl. I'm not sure what; the bump on my head, the stress of fending off Walkers, thinking I'd lost you forever… whatever it was messed up something inside me." She looked to his eyes and saw his brows knit together, confused. "When I shot those two Walkers in Atlanta, that's when it happened."

"When what happened?"

Afton looked down to her hands, to the pink feather twirling nervously in her fingers, not able to meet his gaze. "When I saw myself die. Daryl, I feel like I'm living two lives right now. In one life I died on the Interstate downtown. I saw it happen, I _felt_ it happen. And even though I know it's not true, because I'm sitting here next to you right now, I can still feel the pain and the hurt, and I feel like," she paused, swallowing back tears, "I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions and it's making me crazy."

He didn't laugh, he didn't get up and leave her there alone like she had feared. Instead, he closed one hand over hers and used the other to bring her chin up, leveling her eyes with his.

"We'll get this sorted out, darlin', and that's a fuckin' promise. I don't care what it takes," he drawled, his face inches from hers. He gently framed her face with his hands and brought his mouth down to hers, his lips pliant and warm.

The simple fact that he didn't discount her, vowed to help her, had her all but in tears once again. She pushed them away, savoring instead the feel of Daryl as he gently laid her back in the soft grass.

The sharp slope of the riverbank guarded against prying eyes, but Afton knew as well as Daryl, that they needed to get back to camp. She quickly slipped her pants down and helped him with his zipper, suddenly needing more than just his comforting kisses.

She felt down between them, finding him as ready as she was herself, and guided him closer to her.

Their union was as breathtaking and complete as it had been two nights ago, and as she rocked in time with him, she felt the utter bliss of silence. Not of outside noise, because she could still hear the beautifully strained and uneven breaths Daryl drew against her ear, but of the incessant mental noises that had plagued her all afternoon.

He rasped her name in a whispered stutter against her neck, depleted, and she gladly followed him over the edge, not caring, not _wanting_ to care about what tomorrow would bring, if only she could experience it with Daryl.

He smiled down at her and sweetly kissed her lips before standing to slide his pants on. Afton reached her hand out to him and he pulled her up before handing her her jeans.

"I ain't goin' nowhere, darlin', you can count on that," he drawled and bent to readjust his boots.

Afton hitched up her pants and had them buttoned, but heard the snap of the twig behind her a half a second too late.

A large, strong arm grasped around her neck and pulled her back against a hard wall of muscle.

She gasped in surprise, and suddenly Daryl was there before her, shock and righteous anger cast across his face.

"Looks like you's havin' a party without me, little brother," a deep southern drawl curled hotly against her cheek, and she had to forcefully resist the urge to gag.

Daryl's body was tensed and stiff and he only uttered a single word before Afton's oxygen was cut off by the arm squeezed tightly against her throat: "Merle"


	4. Chapter 4

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

Up until that moment, Daryl never realized what absolute hatred he held for his brother. He suspected that it had almost always been there, simmering under the surface, pushed to some dark and hidden part of his mind, covered under weak excuses: _he's your big brother, he's only trying to teach a lesson to that stupid fuckin' head of yours, you know it's your fault for the way he acts anyways- _placating thoughts used only to justify his unquestioning acceptance of his brother.

But seeing the sickly smug look gleaming in Merle's eyes as he gripped Afton tightly about her neck snapped the last sliver of affection Daryl had ever held for him. It was like a fucking dam busting, and all that hate, all that black _loathing_ that he had tried, subconsciously or no, to hold back came rushing violently forward.

Anger and spite thrummed across his muscles like electricity sparking across a power line; his whole body tensed with the ferocity of it. Everything around him blotted out and all he could see, all he could focus on, was the fact that Merle was hurting Afton. _His _Afton: the only woman he'd ever had any right to love. His heart seemed to stop momentarily then jackhammer double-time to catch up with itself at the sudden realization.

_Love_. He could be an obstinate ass, he was fully aware of that fact, but when push came to shove he knew where he stood. He had given more of himself to her than anyone had ever even bothered to ask of him, and he gave it feely. And he knew, _knew,_ that she was his only reason for living. He loved her, was in love with her, would always love her, and he'd be damned if he let Merle think, even for a second, that this was gonna be another situation where he'd bend to him, not when his life was literally on the line.

Daryl fisted his hands at his sides and drew a shallow breath through flared nostrils. "You let her go right _fucking_ now, you son of a bitch." His voice was low, and steady, and dripping with murderous intent.

Merle chuckled and adjusted Afton under his arm. She rasped in a sharp breath and looked at Daryl, her eyes wide and pleading, her hands pulling uselessly at his brother's forearm.

Merle only continued to laugh, the sound throaty and maniacal. It was then that Daryl felt the heat of fever baking off of his brother. He looked to the arm settled across Afton's neck and saw a blood soaked gauze bandage wrapped haphazardly around the stump where is right hand had been. And visible, even in the dimly muted light cast by the moon, were the vibrant red lines of infection aggressively snaking up his forearm from the saturated dressing. Merle was, literally, a dead man walking, and with absolutely nothing to lose, was more dangerous than he had ever been.

He suddenly stopped laughing and swung his left arm up from where it had been hanging limply in the shadow at his side, a Baby Desert Eagle gripped in his hand, finger already resting on the trigger as he thumbed the hammer back and leveled the barrel at Afton's temple.

Merle's eyes glinted with grim madness. "You better watch what you say, brother, since we's both son's of the same _bitch_." He turned his head and spat into the grassy riverbank where Daryl had just made love to Afton moments earlier.

Panic swirled fluidly with the anger pumping through him. He had thought that he might be able to overpower Merle, to at least give Afton a chance to get away, but now, with the gun pointed at her head and fever-induced delusion canceling out all rational thought in his brother's brain, Daryl feared, his heart squeezing painfully, that he might not be able to drag her way from Merle unscathed.

He inched closer, hands held out in surrender. "Merle, please, just let her go. You can have it out with me. But she ain't got nothin' to do with this."

"Do with what?" Merle asked, seeming to be genuinely fucking perplexed by his own surroundings. He blinked once then smiled, rumbling out that maddeningly broken chuckle. "Oh, right. For the hand, you mean? I already took care of that. Took me all fuckin' afternoon to get those goddamned Walkers into the truck ya'll left for me. They got pretty riled up with the smell of blood and all."

Daryl swallowed hard, his mind reeling. Merle _did_ bring his vengeance back to camp, in the form of a fucking zombie mob.

"How…" Daryl began weakly, suddenly feeling nauseous, forcing his eyes to continue searching subtly for a weapon, any weapon, within arm's reach.

"Never mind the how of it, brother!" Merle shouted, pressing the muzzle of the gun tightly against Afton's temple. A single tear tracked down her cheek and she closed her eyes. Daryl's heart dropped and he struggled to fight back his own tears. Impotent rage bubbled inside him. He'd trade places with her in an instant if he could.

"How many _fuckin_' times do I have to tell you that?" Merle continued. "'Sides, I just wanna have a little fun with her like you did." He nuzzled into Afton's hair and breathed in deeply, never taking his eyes from Daryl's. "Then I'll have it out with you. I'm thinkin' you deserve a good fuckin' beating anyways, leavin' me in Atlanta like you did." He grinned wide, shadow distorting his face into an inhuman mask.

"Merle, please." Daryl was not above begging at that point. It would not be the first time he begged his brother for mercy, but it would be the last.

Afton shifted under Merle's meaty arm and looked Daryl straight in the eye. "Cowboy, you really need to stop." Her voice was thick and smoky. The hands that had just been struggling against their captor stilled and began sliding seductively up the forearm and bicep curled around her neck. "Why have one Dixon when I could try two? And I bet Merle really _is _the big brother, isn't he?" Her voice trembled ever so slightly, but Merle didn't seem to notice, or care. His eyes were already dark with lust, a look Daryl had seen plenty of times before when his brother had set his sights on an unsuspecting woman in one bar or another.

His gaze slid, disbelieving, back to Afton and he started forward, heart thudding heavily in his chest. He could not, _would_ not believe that she would abandon him for his brother.

She dropped a hand from Merle's arm and held it out before her, stopping him short, a tear rolling down her cheek as she mouthed the words _it's okay_. She smiled weakly then squeezed her eyes shut as she slid the hand behind her, groping at Merle, the other slipping into her hip pocket.

Daryl swallowed hard, completely dumbfounded, until he saw her left hand draw a small pocketknife from her jeans.

He looked quickly back to Merle. His arm was still looped around Afton's neck, but the hand holding the gun had found its way across her breasts. His eyes had slipped closed and he moaned under Afton's hand.

"Turn me around, Merle. Lemme see what I'm workin' with," she coaxed softly.

Daryl tensed, trying to ready himself for whatever might happen next.

Merle chuckled darkly as he turned her in his arms. He crushed his lips against hers as soon as she was facing him. Daryl's guts twisted up with jealousy and disgust, and he was about to rush forward when Merle suddenly jerked back from Afton, a blackish stain beginning to bloom across the shirt covering his lower stomach.

"What the fu-" Merle muttered, shock plastered across his face. Afton stepped back from him slowly, her tiny pocketknife trembling and covered to the hilt in blood.

Daryl took full advantage of his brother's surprise, dashing forward and tackling Merle to the ground. They landed on the soft earth of the riverbank with twin grunts. Daryl straddled him, one hand clamped around Merle's neck, the other straining to wrestle the gun from his grasp, thoroughly amazed at his brother's strength despite his wounds. He was acutely aware that Merle's fever had not abated; it had seemed only to have intensified and Daryl very nearly drew his hands back from the disturbingly scorched heat of the skin under his palms.

Merle choked out a laugh as he stared wild-eyed up at Daryl. "You always was such a pussy," he wheezed. "Never could win a fight against yo' big brother, could ya?"

"Fuck you!" Daryl cried. "You think you were doing me a _favor_, beatin' the shit out of me almost everyday?" He crushed his hand over Merle's windpipe, unable to stop the memories from flooding back. "You were supposed to look out for me! We're _brothers_, goddamn it!"

He tried shaking Merle's wrist to release the gun, but his hand slipped off his brother's sweat-slicked skin. Merle wasted no time in smashing the butt of the pistol against side of Daryl's head, the brute force of it momentarily blacking out his vision. He keeled sideways into the shallow creek, his knees scraping painfully on the sharp river rock. He dazedly brought his hand up to his temple and was absently surprised that the fingers came away with fresh blood.

He looked up slowly to Merle just as his brother was gaining his feet. His infected, disfigured arm was tightly pressed against his belly, covering the knife wound Afton had inflicted.

_ Afton. _Daryl turned his muddled head to the left, hoping like fucking hell that she had run back to camp, to safety.

He just about wept with relief seeing that the bank was cleared but for him and Merle. He would give his life for Afton if it came to it, and now it looked like Merle would be the one he'd be giving it to. But he didn't really give a damn, as long as he could take his brother down with him, as long as she was safe.

He looked to Merle standing doubled-over little more than an arm's reach away. Pain and madness were etched roughly across his face as he panted hoarsely, never diverting his gun's aim from Daryl.

A menacing smile broke across Merle's lips and he began laughing as Daryl attempted to stand. His foot faltered on the slippery creek bed only once before he was on his feet again, unsteady, but standing nonetheless.

Merle stepped forward, laughter fading, until the gun in his outstretched hand was pressed solidly against Daryl's heart. "Guess that little slut of yours left you high and dry, didn't she?" he croaked out through bruised vocal chords. "Funny how you even _thought_ you could hold onto a hot piece of ass like that. I am gonna have to teach her a lesson though, stickin' me like she did." He glanced down as he pulled his stunted arm away from his stomach, exposing a shirt saturated with blood.

Daryl looked from the wound back to Merle's face. His vision began to blur and he blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus. He shook his head brusquely, relishing in the tremendous ache it bought, and with it, the momentary clarity. He could suddenly hear the subtle watery rush of the creek, the soft questioning of an owl far up in the trees, the commotion of panicked voices nearing.

He grabbed handfuls of Merle's shirtfront and yanked him forward, feeling the sharp angles of the gun muzzle digging into his chest and not caring, seeing the shocked expression wipe across Merle's face knowing he'd never forget it. His face was inches from his brother's. He was instantly enveloped in intense fever-heat and he could smell the bitter tang of blood and sweat, the pungent reek of infection, the darkly musky scent of imminent death.

"I think it's time someone taught _you _a lesson, _brother_," Daryl ground out through bared teeth. "After all those years, after all that shit, it's finally your turn." He pulled Merle closer, overcome with the intention of pounding his face until his fingers simply refused to form a fist anymore.

Merle's eyes rolled wildly and he tried futilely pushing Daryl back. The gun at his chest jerked violently as his brother pulled the trigger.

The hollow click of the dead-fire had Daryl's body tensing so fiercely that he was sure his heart really had stopped beating. They both looked down at the pistol wedged between them in amazement. Merle fumbled the hammer, readying the second round and Daryl knew he might not be so lucky twice. The dry rustle of river reeds in front of him wrenched his focus over Merle's shoulder.

Afton had somehow appeared from the shadows, his crossbow drawn and steady in her hands. She stopped short right behind his brother. "I'm so sorry, Daryl," she whispered, her tear-filled gaze never wavering from his.

The arrow entered Merle faster than he had time to react, to think, to speak, and traveled at such a great velocity and from such a short range that the arrowhead protruded from his chest and deeply pierced the muscle stretched between Daryl's ribs, very nearly puncturing his right lung- the wound leaving a scar that he'd carry for the rest of his life. The perfectly executed kill shot brought Merle down instantly.

Daryl sank to his knees in the mud beside his brother, no longer able to keep his vision from blurring, no longer able to stay upright.

The last thing he remembered before the empty, echoing darkness took him was Afton's hands on his face, her lips on his mouth, her voice in his ear, _"Stay with me baby, please." _It was a request he wasn't entirely sure he could deliver on.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners. I own my OC's Afton and Brian._

Afton sat with her back pressed against the trunk of a large oak tree at the edge of her new camp, legs draw up against her chest, chin resting on her knees, arms looped around, huddling herself into a tight ball. Her right hand held her pink feather up to her face, twirling it between her index finger and thumb.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon, washing the tents and vehicles surrounding the quiet perimeter in a blaze of shimmering oranges and reds, bringing with it the unwelcome promise of another sweltering summer day.

And still Afton sat while everyone slept as the sun inched higher. Sweat beaded at her brow, tears crowded her eyes, but she made no move to brush either away. Her gaze was locked on the feather in her hand and her mind was very far away. She had tried to force herself into some sort of happy place, where she could forget, if only for a moment, the hell she had been through these last two months. But her brain simply refused to take her to any place that was remotely joyful. She kept wandering between the black-hued memories of Dad and Paul's deaths, her panic filled search for Brian at Fort McPherson, dying in downtown Atlanta- _I didn't die! Yes, I did!_, being captured by Merle… they all crowded her mind, threatening to choke out her sanity. And then, there it was clambering to the forefront, the thought that dominated all others: _I murdered Daryl's brother_.

A strangled sob hitched in her throat and she looked up quickly, momentarily unsure that she was the one that had made the noise. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head to the left, swiftly wiping tears from her cheeks, and saw Brian stepping from the tent he was sharing with her and Daryl.

She had tried staying with Daryl through the night, to keep a vigilante eye on him as he lay unconscious on a cot in a corner of the tent. She had cleansed and bandaged his wounds as best she could with Brian's help, and had even dozed for a short time on the floor beside his bed, but the haunting memories, vicious and unrelenting in the quiet of the dark, had forced her outside, away from Daryl. She had thought that distancing herself from him would help alleviate the tremendous guilt she had felt since the second she had pulled the trigger on his crossbow, but pacing up and down the creek bed and around the camp seemed only to make her feel worse, more suffocated. She had finally resigned herself to curling up under the tree adjacent their tent and waiting for the sun to finally come up and put an end to the terrible night.

She sniffled and leaned back against the tree as Brian came and sat cross-legged next to her in the dirt. He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed a hand down his face, rasping against the stubble on his cheeks, before looking to her. His black hair was sleep-mussed and disheveled, and dark shadows pooled under his weary golden brown eyes. He looked every bit as exhausted as Afton felt.

She pulled in a steadying breath before asking, "How's he doing?"

Brian glanced down to his hands resting in his lap before looking back to her and offering up a weak and unconvincing smile. "His breathing is steady right now, but he's still unconscious and his pulse is weak and thready. Dehydration's gonna set in here soon and I think he might have gotten whatever infection his brother had when the arrow… well you know. We cleaned out the wound as best we could, but from the swelling and warmth at the puncture sight, I'd say the infection's in his blood and spreading."

Afton clutched her feather tightly in her palm and blinked back tears, wondering bitterly how things might be different if Daryl's crossbow hadn't been the first weapon she had seen when she had rushed back up the riverbank to the camp. She shuddered and felt warm tears roll down her cheeks; he might not even be alive right now. She tried to take solace in that fact, that she had saved his life, but at what cost?

She knew that Brian's medical training at the army hospital, limited as it was by the Outbreak, was all that was keeping Daryl back from death's door. But she was also acutely aware of the camp's shortage of basic first aid supplies.

"What are we going to do?" She wiped her tears from her face as she looked to her brother, subtly stuffing her fletch into her shirt.

Brian shook his head and gazed out at the camp that was beginning to stir with people just waking and stumbling tiredly out of tents and the RV. "He needs antibiotics and more adequate bandages." He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "All the shit we don't have _here_. I don't even have any fucking suture to stitch him up!" He growled in frustration and pushed to his feet.

Afton scrambled to stand on shaky legs. "What about the hospital in Atlanta? Grady Memorial? I could go back and raid the supply closets."

Brian shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to her, his harsh expression softening as he looked to her eyes. "The hospital's been stripped. It was one of the first places we searched when we got into the city from the base."

_The base_. Afton closed her eyes, trying like hell to tamp down the panic that suddenly threatened to crush her. Fort McPherson was overrun with Walkers and the last time she was there, she almost hadn't made it out; but she knew the army hospital there housed a new, state of the art surgical suite.

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "What about the GH on base? McPherson was infested with Walkers when I was there looking for you, but the perimeter seemed like it was pretty well fortified in the beginning; the medical supplies might have been untouched." It was a risky proposition, but Afton knew she would do anything for Daryl, including putting her life on the line to protect him.

Brian gazed at her levelly, brows scrunched together in thought. Realization finally dawned across his face and a smile slowly curled his lips. He stepped to her and set his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to press a swift kiss to her forehead. "It's perfect! The hospital was on lockdown and all patients and staff were sent to Grady, so it should still be intact. We'll really be able to stock up!" He grinned as he stepped back from Afton and moved to the tent. "Let me get some supplies together and we'll head out."

Afton's heart dropped and she grabbed at the back of his shirt to stop him from walking away. "No, Brian! You have to stay with Daryl, to make sure he's okay! I can get there on my own."

Brian turned to her suddenly, his shocked expression quickly turning to anger. "Afton, listen to me. That man in there," he spoke low and firm, pointing a finger towards the tent, "will not survive the next twenty-four hours if we don't get the right medications in him. I know that base like the back of my fucking hand, and if we go together we can get the shit we need and get out."

"But, Daryl needs…" She swallowed, trying to find a way to finish the sentence, hating that Brian was right, hating that it was ultimately her fault for putting him in unnecessary danger.

He shot her a glaring look before turning to the other survivors busy clearing bodies into piles after last night's massacre, and shouted for T-Dog.

T-Dog looked up from the zombie carcass at his feet and quickly jogged over.

"What's up?" His gaze flicked between Afton and Brian as he stood before them.

Brian offered him a tense smile. "You're gettin' a crash course in first-aid."

Afton watched in a daze as Brian rattled off a list of instructions for T-dog, showed him how to check for a pulse, how to change bandages, how to keep Daryl alive and comfortable until they could get back.

It wasn't until her brother pushed her compound bow toward her that she realized he already had his rucksack packed and ready, slung across his shoulder with his shotgun.

She blinked and looked down to the bow in her hands, tightening her grip on the hard, cool metal; the move instantly centering her to her task: _get the supplies, keep Daryl alive_.

She stepped to the tent to retrieve her backpack and quiver, trying to steel herself, her heart, for the sight of Daryl unconscious on that cot, but felt her breath hitch in her chest nonetheless.

The early morning sun filtering through the canvas walls cast hollowing shadows at his roughly stubbled cheeks. His face was slack, his dry lips parted in his sleep. The red-tinted gauze bandage wrapped about his bare chest and the one at his temple tied it all together, effectively painting a picture of a wounded, broken man. _Her_ man.

She knelt beside the cot and gently caressed his face, silently wiling his eyes to open, simultaneously pushing away the dark voice in the back of her mind that whispered what she feared the most: _You murdered his brother, the only family he had left, how will he ever forgive you for that?_

Afton swallowed back hot tears and leaned forward to place a swift, chaste kiss to the corner of his chapped lips before quickly standing and exiting the tent with her gear. She stepped into the sunshine washing the camp outside the tent and pulled in a deep, grounding breath, giving Brian a small smile to let him know she was ready. He nodded and turned to Shane and Rick, continuing a heated conversation he must have been in the middle of.

Afton walked to the waiting Four-Runner idling at the edge of camp and set her gear in the passenger seat through the vehicle's open window. She leaned against the sun warmed car door and let her eyes slip closed as she waited for Brian. Getting to the Base was definitely going to be easier with a vehicle that could drive them right to the front entrance. And, she conceded, Brian's extensive knowledge of the hospital's layout would ensure that, if everything went according to plan, they could be back in a couple hours' time, and be able to give Daryl the medications he so desperately needed.

A shadow darkened over her and her eyes flew open as she straightened next to the truck. T-dog stood before her nervously wringing his hands. He suddenly pulled her into a tight hug. "I'll take care of 'im for you. You just make sure you get back safe," he whispered quickly before gently settling her back against the car door.

She blinked up at him and smiled. "Thank you," she said softly. She heard the driver's side door open behind her as Brian climbed in and gave T-dog another smile before getting in her seat beside her brother.

Brian slammed the truck into gear before Afton had even pulled her seat belt into place and peeled down the gravel road, sending up a rooster tail of dust in their wake as they set off for Fort McPherson.

/

They made it to the base ten minutes shy of an hour; good time considering the monumental cluster-fuck of stalled traffic on almost every street they tried on the way there.

Brian eased the truck to a stop a block from the entry to get a good view of the perimeter, and

Afton knew he was making a plan for their grand entrance.

The chain link fence that had been set up as a last ditch barricade around the base lay twisted and bent over on itself, glaring evidence of the strength of the Walker mob that had followed Afton only yesterday. She shuddered against the terrifying memory and quickly busied herself with double-checking the tension on her bow.

Brian huffed out a heavy sigh beside her as he slumped back in his seat, not quite relaxing his grip on the steering wheel. He turned his head toward her, his gaze firm and serious.

"I'm gonna drive the truck through as hard and fast as I can and get us close to the hospital as possible. We're aiming for the loading dock at the back of the building 'cause it's the only entrance closest to the surgical supply closet."

"How are we gonna get in? You said it went on lockdown."

Brian smiled slyly and slipped a hand in his breast pocket producing a set of keys. They clinked together softly as he held them out to her. There were six on the ring, all looking ordinarily similar- all but one. She grasped the keys from her brother's hand in disbelief and held up the one emblazoned with an American flag design; it was a gift she had made for him the day before he was shipped out to boot camp- _so you know you can always come home, Brian_.

"You still have the house key?" Her voice was soft with wonder.

A pained expression clouded Brian's eyes as he pulled the key set back from her. "I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. I haven't been home for a year and I still can't… I couldn't just…" He sighed and sat forward, dropping them back in his pocket. His face suddenly shifted back to hardened soldier mode and Afton knew he was done talking about it.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a shaky hand and opened her mouth to speak, not even knowing what she would offer him; apologies, regrets, excuses?

But Brian cut her off before she could even begin, turning in his seat to look at her. "Afton, listen. We can talk about it later all you want, I promise. But right now we need to get our asses in gear." He ran a hand through his hair, looking her straight in the eye, something in his gaze sending shivers down her spine. "Rick and Shane gave us a deadline."

Panic began settling around her chest, tightening with every thump of her heart. "Deadline?"

"They're planning on moving everyone to the CDC in Glenridge and Rick says they're willin' to give us two hours to get back before they head out. If we're not back to camp by then they'll leave without us."

Afton felt all the blood drain from her face, leaving her feel lightheaded. "Daryl?" It was all she was capable of squeaking out.

"They're gonna take him with them, but I'm really not sure if he's strong enough to make the trip without a saline drip and antibiotic injections."

"What's our time looking right now?"

Brian looked to his watch. "We'll have five minutes max once we get in the hospital."

"Then what the fuck are we waiting for?" Afton asked more harshly than she intended.

Brian offered her a hard smile that looked more like a grimace before shifting the truck into first. He flew through gears, nimbly avoiding stalled vehicles along the deserted street as he built up speed.

Afton braced her hands on the Four-Runner's fabric roof as they barreled through the chain link fence in front of the barracks and felt her breath catch in her chest at the sight of a large group of Walkers mulling about in the yard and street between two of the housing units. Brian clipped a couple of bodies as he skirted the mob on squealing tires and cursed loudly as one of the zombie's heads connected with the driver's side of the windshield. It left a large, bloody smear on the glass and Afton had to suppress the wild urge to burst into laughter as her brother fumbled to turn on the windshield wipers.

He grunted and straightened the truck out again once he could see the road clearly, laying on the gas and speeding down the asphalt.

They careened between two large buildings and Afton saw the hospital suddenly appear on the right, nestled behind a large shrub-lined roundabout entrance. Brian down shifted and slowed the truck around the back of the building, stopping next to the stairs leading up the loading dock.

Brian turned to her. "Cover me while I get the door open, okay?" he said almost breathlessly.

Afton nodded and loaded an arrow in her bow. They quickly exited the truck and made their way up the stairs to the door.

She heard Brian work the key into the lock as she looked out on the parking lot, eyes unwillingly drinking in the carnage before her. Sheet covered bodies lined every available space in the lot and ravens cawed happily into the disturbing quiet, feasting greedily on the victims.

She gasped and jumped when Brian suddenly touched her shoulder.

"We're in."

Afton turned shakily and followed him in. He led her through two dimly lit corridors before stopping to unlock a door marked 'Employees only – no exceptions'. He flipped a switch and light flooded the small room.

"Generators must still be functional," he said in response to her questioning look. "Start with that cabinet there and put as much in your bag as will fit."

They left the supply closet in less than four minutes and were back in the truck by the five-minute mark, bags heavy with suture packs and picc lines and medications and saline bags.

Afton looked anxiously at Brian as he turned the Four-Runner back toward the hospital entrance. "How are we on time?"

He glanced at his watch and blew a breath through pursed lips, eyes locking back on the road. "We got an hour. Should be enough time to get back if we drive the way we came."

She sighed, clicked her seatbelt in place, and pressed her hand to her breast, willing her heart to slow its erratic beats, finding comfort in the feel of her pink bow fletch against her skin. They were going to get back to the camp and stabilize Daryl, and then _maybe_ talk about moving on to the CDC. She was sure she could convince Brian that they stay behind, make it on their own, without the hindrance of a group of people they barely knew.

Brian nudged Afton's arm and she blinked, rubbing at her bleary eyes. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. She sat up suddenly in the car seat and looked out to the gravel road before them, the road that lead back to camp. "What time is it?" she practically shouted.

Brian chuckled softly. "Chill the fuck out, would ya? We got fifteen minutes to spare."

He gunned it around the last bend, spewing gravel and dust out behind the truck.

Afton gasped and her hands flew up to her mouth as camp came into view. "Holy fuck," she choked out.

The campground was completely and utterly deserted. No vehicles, no tents, no Daryl

Brian stalled the truck in his surprise at the sight and Afton jumped out before it even finished rolling to a stop.

She saw the note nailed to the trunk of the tree she had sat under as dawn had broken that morning and ran full out across the hard-pack dirt, ripping the paper away from the bark as soon as she reached it, frantically reading the three words roughly scrawled across the page:

_We couldn't wait_


	6. Chapter 6

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners._

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

"Merle, I'm real thirsty," Daryl says quietly as he trails behind his brother on a dusty dirt road a very, very long way from home. They have been walking a long time and his mouth is so _dry_. His head hurts and he can't remember how they got to this road or how they are going to get back home, but he thinks Merle knows the way and he trusts his big brother unquestioningly; even though in all of Daryl's five years on this Earth Merle hasn't really given him a good reason to.

Daryl doubles up on his strides to match Merle's longer ones and tugs on the back of his brother's dirty tee shirt.

"Merle?" he asks around a dry tongue that feels like sandpaper in his mouth. He thinks that if he could get just one drop of water he'd be good- he wouldn't be what Merle calls a _naggy-pussy_ no more ever again. He'd be good the rest of his life for just a cupped handful of creek water, even if it was warm and had bugs in it.

He tugs his brother's shirt again and Merle stops abruptly and turns to him with that _look_ in his eyes. His big brother has five years on him and is big for his age and has always used this to his advantage. Daryl flinches instinctively and draws back.

"I heard you the first time, dummy!" Merle shouts, his face red and sweaty from the hot summer air. His cheeks are so flushed they are almost purple and he pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe at his forehead. Daryl is so parched, so dry inside and out, that his skin doesn't even have any more sweat to squeeze out, but he wipes at his fevered forehead just like Merle does.

"There's a shortcut up here; Dad showed it to me once. (Daryl knows this is a lie, but wisely keeps his mouth shut) We'll be home in like two seconds and den da baby can have a dwink from his baba," Merle taunts Daryl before locking his little brother's neck in the crook of his elbow and scrubbing a rough noogie into his scalp with his knuckles. Daryl has known from a very young age that it is better not to struggle or fight against his brother and lets his arms fall limply to his sides and swallows back a sob, thankful that he couldn't produce tears now even if he wanted to.

Merle barks out a harsh laugh as he lets Daryl go with a shove. "You're such a loser," he says as Daryl stares at the ground and smoothes his grimy hair back into place; he never brings his eyes up to meet his big brother's, knowing Merle would only take it as a challenge. He is too weak and too thirsty to be able to fend his brother off, but one day- one day he'll be big and strong and he'll show Merle who is boss.

Merle's mean laughter suddenly dies away and Daryl cautions a glance at his brother, but Merle is not even looking at him. He is staring over Daryl's shoulder and the painfully scared expression on Merle's face makes his tummy twist up. He is suddenly certain Daddy has found them, that he is standing right behind him with the belt in his hands. His heart kicks into jackrabbit mode and he doesn't want to turn around. He wishes with everything that's inside him that he could sprout wings and fly away, like the boy in the story Gramma used to tell him sometimes.

He is shaky, but pulls in a deep breath, trying to puff up his chest with courage, and is about to turn when he spots something bright appear in Merle's hand.

Merle's still looking over Daryl's shoulder, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, but his hand is held out in front of him and poking out of his fist is a stiff pink feather. Daryl reaches a trembly hand out and his fingers brush over the bristly thing. He makes a move to pry the feather away from Merle, needing to have it in his hand before he can turn to face Daddy, somehow knowing it can –

_"Daryl"_

- save him from-

_"Daryl!"_

- all the pain that is coming-

A firm hand shook his shoulder, an insistent voice called his name, and Daryl blinked his eyes open slowly, suddenly aware that he had been dreaming.

"Hey, there."

Daryl looked up to see Andrea leaning over him, an expression on her face that was somehow concerned and relieved at the same time. He glanced around her and saw that he was laying on the foldout couch in Dale's RV and knew by the jostling sway that they were on the move. He tried sitting up to look out the window, but was forced back down by a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest and an aching throb in his head. He groaned and settled back on the stiff foam of the small couch, too weak to even prop himself up on his elbows.

Andrea brushed hair away from his forehead with cool fingers. "You need to try to lay still, Daryl," she said softly, her fingers lingering against his cheek for a moment before dipping away and coming up with a plastic cup complete with a bendy straw poking out of the top. The sight suddenly brought back his quickly fading dream and its dominating feeling of unslaked thirst. His urgent need for water completely eclipsed the pain coursing through his body and he knew that if he was not so severely dehydrated, and was actually capable of salivating, that he'd be drooling like a rabid dog.

Andrea smiled sweetly and brought the cup closer to him, placing the straw between his lips. He greedily sucked water into his mouth, but drew in more than his throat was ready for and ended up dribbling most of it down his chin in a sputtering coughing fit. She dabbed at his chin and neck gently with a towel while Daryl watched her skeptically. She hadn't ever bothered to even give him the time of day in all the weeks they had shared camp. He suspected that she and her sister had stayed away because of Merle's habit of copping a feel whenever they walked by, but why was she showing so much interest in taking care of him now? And why the fuck was he is so much _pain_?

He looked down to his chest and saw a large swatch of gauze wrapped about him. A bright bloom of red on the right side of his chest seemed to grow with each shallow breath he took.

He quickly looked to Andrea. "What…" he croaked. He cleared his throat dryly and started again. "What the fuck happened?" What little energy he had had was rapidly fading and small black spots began gathering at the edges of his field of vision.

He could feel Andrea slip her hand into his and squeeze gently. Her brows knit together over her blue eyes. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He tried very hard to think back, but his vision was beginning to blur badly and his head was throbbing out a powerful ache with every rapid beat of his heart. He took a deep breath, trying like hell to fight back the fatigue enveloping him.

"I was leaving camp to trail the buck's tracks I found down by the creek." He tried to remember past that, to remember how he might have been wounded or how he even got in this damned RV, but wasn't able to draw any memories beyond hitching his crossbow and rucksack over his shoulder at dawn and heading down the path of the shallow creek beside camp.

He blinked heavily and tried to bring Andrea's face into focus; he was so fucking _tired_. She smoothed his hair away from his forehead again and smiled sadly. "Daryl, does the name Afton mean anything to you?"

He blinked again. He had driven through the town of Afton with Merle once years ago on their way to a construction job in Gainesville, but he couldn't see why it would matter to Andrea.

"No, I don't think so." He let the words rush out on a sigh before relaxing his head against his pillow and closing his eyes. Consciousness stole from him rapidly and left him in a quiet, dark place where not much of anything mattered anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners. I own Afton and Brian

Afton cautioned a glance at Brian and blinked back barely restrained tears. Her brother sat forward in the driver's seat of their truck, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, right foot touching fleetingly at the brake. They barreled north on Highway 19 in desperate pursuit of the caravan making its way to the CDC in Glenridge, transporting a deathly sick Daryl Dixon with them.

They had left their deserted camp for the highway they were now traveling on somewhere close to an hour ago. And after her initial frantic meltdown, Afton now sat numbly in her seat as Brian wove between stalled and abandoned vehicles. He pulled onto the soft dirt shoulder to get around a burned-out Jeep and fishtailed their little Four-Runner violently attempting to get it back on the road.

Afton's heart, already fluttering in her throat over worry for Daryl, sped up a notch and she braced her hands on the dashboard as her brother got the truck back under control, barely missing the fender of an overturned pickup.

"Jesus, Brian!" she hissed.

"You think you can do a better job? Be my fucking guest!" He lifted his hands off the wheel for a full two seconds before gripping it again.

Afton crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. "We're not gonna be any good to Daryl if we're _dead_." She adjusted her seatbelt and stared out the window. "Dad was right," she murmured.

"Right about what?" His voice was a barely restrained shout. The truck's engine roared as he laid on the gas again.

She turned in her seat and glared at him, repeating their father's words verbatim: "That boy drives like it's the end of the goddamn world, Afton, and I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up wrapped around a telephone pole, or worse, one day."

Brian's intense stare out the windshield softened and his lips curved into a small smile. "You do a great impression," he said, glancing at her before locking his eyes on the road again.

Afton smiled a little herself and slowly uncrossed her arms. "I guess he'd probably say that since it _is _the end of the world, you can drive however the hell you want to."

Brian laughed outright at that, the deeply infectious sound urging a giggle from Afton too. And they sat that way, barreling down Highway 19, the devastated remains of their newly dead world passing by unseen, their laughter filling the confines of their truck until they were gasping for breath and Afton was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. God, it felt so good to just _laugh_; she had to think very hard to remember the last time she actually had, pretty sure that it had been when Daryl, standing shirtless at the edge of her camp, turned to her with her arrow's bright pink fletch sticking through his spiked, sleep-mussed hair. Was it possible that that was only _two_ days ago? It felt like years.

She sighed and looked to Brian; his smile was gone, replaced with a quietly somber expression, one she assumed was on her face as well.

"Afton, how did it happen? Dad and Paul, I mean," he said, not pulling his gaze from the road.

"I don't really want…" she began, trying to beg off from having to dredge up the hurt and fear she had so efficiently buried.

"Please," Brian said softly, "I have to know. I wasn't there to protect you guys and that's something I'm always gonna struggle with, but I have to know what happened." He glanced to her, eyes pleading.

Afton swallowed hard and settled back against the seat, her gaze drawn down to her hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap, as she told Brian about the day their family was changed forever.

It was early morning, so early that the sun had not yet come close to nearing the eastern horizon. The dew-covered grass on the front lawn dampened the bottoms of Afton's jeans as she walked from the house she had lived her whole life in to the Jeep sitting quietly in the pre-dawn darkened driveway. She was carrying a box full of canned soups in her arms and her bow and quiver were slung across her shoulder.

Paul appeared from around the opened hatch at the back of the Jeep as she approached and took the box from her, stuffing it in with the other survival supplies that filled the back of the vehicle. He swung the door shut and turned to Afton, his lips set in a grim line as he brushed an unruly lock of black hair from his brow.

" I think that's the last of it, that will fit anyways. Is dad almost ready? We really need to be getting on the road to McPherson."

"He's coming," she said, looking to her oldest brother's eyes, the trademark O'Connell amber whiskey color almost indecipherable in the dark. "Paul, do you think those reports on the radio are true? That army bases are the safest place for us?"

He let out an exasperated sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face. "It doesn't matter if it's safe or not, Afton. We have to get Brian out of there. If it's okay to stay, we'll stay, but if it's overrun with Walkers, like I _think_ it is, we're getting him the fuck out."

They both turned at the sound of their father closing the front door. He descended the porch steps with his shotgun in one hand and a box of ammunition in the other, walking toward them just as the moon came from behind a cloud and glinted off of his white hair, casting it in a silvery glow.

"Alright, O'Connells, all set?" he asked, tossing the keys to Paul after he had set his weapon in the truck. Paul jogged around to the driver's side and turned the engine over smoothly.

Afton stepped next to her father as he stood looking at their home one last time. The moon had slipped behind the clouds again, leaving the house shadowed and dark. It sat quietly, as it always had, in the middle of a large field, surrounded by a dense Georgian forest that had been Afton's favorite stomping ground as a child. Her father sighed heavily, looping his arm around her shoulder, and squeezed gently.

"It's hard to leave things behind, isn't it? Your momma helped me build this place when we got married. Board by board." His voice broke over the last word and Afton looked to see tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes. In all of her twenty-two years on this planet, she had only seen her father cry once, and that had been at her mother's funeral when she was all of five years old.

She turned to stand before him, tears beginning to well in her own eyes, and hugged him tightly about his middle. "It'll be okay, Daddy. We'll get Brian and come back home and everything will be fine," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt as he held her tightly, knowing as soon as the words left her mouth that they wouldn't be returning here, no matter how much she wished for it to happen.

She heard her father clear his throat and felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, before he held her back, his gaze lingering lovingly over her face. "Keep your guard up, Afton," he said firmly. "And keep those pretty eyes open; be ready for anything." A sentence her father, Retired Lieutenant General Aidan O'Connell, had repeated many times to her since she was just a girl, perhaps preparing her for the mind-numbing turn of events they now all found themselves in.

He kissed her forehead and turned to the Jeep, climbing into the passenger side. Afton followed, casting one glance back to the house before sitting in the seat behind her father's. Paul turned the truck down the gravel driveway and moved onto the asphalt road, heading south toward Atlanta, toward Fort McPherson, toward Brian.

They had traveled three miles from the house, Afton gazing absently out the window, Paul and Dad talking quietly, when the left front tire blew, jerking the truck in a startling shudder across the road. Paul slowed the car to the shoulder, spouting an impressive array of curses as he did so. He killed the engine and they all sat quietly for a moment, breathing hard and fast.

"Dad, cover me while I get the spare on. Afton, stay in the car," Paul said, voice trembling ever so slightly.

She watched silently as her dad paced in and out of the beams of the headlights before the truck, shotgun ready in the crook of his arm, and saw Paul pop up beside the driver's side window momentarily before disappearing again, tire-iron in hand to tighten the bolts on the newly attached spare.

Movement out the left window, directly behind Paul as he knelt beside the Jeep, caught Afton's attention too late. A group of Walkers stumbled out of the trees lining the side of the road and set after her brother. She cried out his name and frantically struggled with the door latch to her right. She was out of the vehicle with her bow, still screaming for Paul, and rounding the front of the truck when the loud report of gunfire cracked from her father's gun as he stood firing at the zombies advancing toward them. Paul's heartbreaking cries were cut short and she suddenly realized, too shocked for tears to even form, that it was too late for him.

Afton did her best to drop as many Walkers away from the driver's side door with the limited number of arrows in her quiver, clearing a path to the vehicle to get her dad to safety. If she could do no more for Paul, she could at least do that, she thought frantically.

Walkers continued to pour out through the trees as she was pulling open the door, turning her head to scream for her dad to "get in the fucking car!" when she heard him cry out in pain. He stumbled into the beams cast by the headlights and she could see clearly the large bloody gash of torn skin on his forearm. She started stepping back out of the truck, disbelief slowing her limbs numbly and he shouted at her. Her father had never raised his voice to her in all of his life, but he did now. "Afton, you get in that truck and you drive, and don't you ever look back!" His eyes were hard and determined as he swung his shotgun at the fray of zombies stepping toward him hungrily.

She pushed the driver's side door open forcefully, sending two Walker's stumbling backward. "Daddy, no!"

The arc of his swinging shotgun connected heartily with a zombie's head, sending up a spray of blood and gore. He walked quickly to her standing beside the open door. "I've been bit, Afton, there's no help for it now. But you need to get out while there's still time." He gave her a firm shove into the driver's seat and shut the door before she could protest any further.

Her eyes were wide and wet with tears as she turned the truck over. Her father looked at her through the side window and placed his hand against the glass briefly, mouthing the words 'I love you' before turning and swinging his way into the mob behind him. Afton choked back a sob, gripped the steering wheel and slammed on the gas, doing as she was told, never looking back.

Afton sat back against her seat in the Four-Runner, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks before turning to Brian. He glanced at her, and she could see his eyes were shimmering and red. "I wasn't there. I should have been there to protect you and I wasn't. I'm so sorry." He pulled a hand up from the steering wheel to clear his eyes and Afton gently rubbed his shoulder.

"Please don't blame yourself for what happened, Brian. We have to keep moving forward and do like Dad says: never look back."

Brian nodded and slowly eased the Four-runner around a sharp left turn. And what they saw ahead of them drew a gasp from them both. The caravan from camp, minus one or two vehicles, was pulled to the side of the road, with Dale's RV in the lead, spewing white smoke from the front end. A crowd had gathered beside a large tree a few yards from the road, and from their distance Afton had to sit forward in her seat to make out what was happening. The group was setting a limp body up against the tree and stepping back slowly. Her heart fell down through her shoes.

"Oh my god! What are they doing, that's Daryl! Drive faster!" all came out in a frantic screech.

Brian laid on the gas the last quarter mile and pulled up to a screeching halt behind the caravan. Afton jumped out of the truck and ran full force toward the gathered group, seeing as she got closer that it was not Daryl at all propped against the tree, but Jim, a survivor she had met last night after the chaos had subsided somewhat. And now, sitting in the shade of the large tree, he looked very weak and fragile, with shadows pooling under his eyes and sweat slicked all over his pale skin. The group looked up as Afton approached.

"Where's Daryl? Please, someone tell me!" she panted, almost completely out of breath in her panic.

Andrea hurried over to her and grasped her hands tightly, a startling look of concern in her eyes. "He's in the RV," she began, holding Afton's hands firmly. Brian dashed by with his backpack and jumped into the vehicle. Afton tried pulling away, wanting only to see Daryl, but felt Andrea tug her back. "Afton, something happened."

"What? What happened?" Her heart felt like it had literally stopped beating and she was suddenly certain that Daryl was dead. He was dead and she was alone and 'so sorry but there was nothing we could do' would be uttered more times than she could bear.

Andrea held her gaze steadily. "He's been unconscious almost this whole time, but for the short amount of time he was awake, Afton, he," she hesitated and licked her lips.

Afton wrenched her hands away. "He what, Andrea? Daryl _what_?" she screamed.

Andrea grasped Afton's hands again, gently. "He doesn't remember you," she said softly, dropping Afton's hands once more, her own arms falling limply to her sides.

Tears flooded Afton's eyes and she rushed to the RV. Brian had already set Daryl with a saline drip and was injecting a syringe of antibiotics into his arm when she stepped up next to them. She knelt beside the narrow bed that Daryl was lying on and brushed her hand gently across his forehead. His eyes fluttered open and he looked slowly around the room, before bringing his gaze to rest on Afton. She spoke very softly: "Daryl, it's me."

She had only a fraction of a second to think that Andrea was wrong, she was wrong and Daryl _did _actually recognize her, that of course her remembered everything they had been through together, before Daryl's brows knit together in utter confusion and her world came crashing down with one word: "Who?"


	8. Chapter 8

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

I own my OC's Afton and Brian

Daryl wove dazedly between waking and muddled, delusion ridden dreams on the group's journey to the CDC in Glenridge. He vaguely remembered being awoken by a beautiful woman with hair black as a crow's wing and striking amber eyes at one point, but had a hell of a time placing her face. He began slipping away again, but not before seeing an absolutely crestfallen look settle heavily on her features. Sleep stole him quickly once more, tucking him back into barely decipherable dreams, where the woman made recurring appearances; standing beside him in the middle of a field with a compound bow drawn into the empty space around them, kneeling before the five year old version of himself and pressing a band-aid to his skinned knee, dying in his arms in the middle of a street he didn't recognize. She was ever-fucking- present, and he didn't even know her _name._

Daryl's eyes opened slowly when he felt the RV stop and heard the people inside the vehicle moving around and gathering items quickly. A man knelt before him, holding such a striking similarity to the woman that he wondered if he hadn't really seen her at all. Then he glanced over the man's shoulder and saw her standing behind him, apprehension and concern clear on her face as she looked down at Daryl; and he knew then that the two were closely related.

"Daryl?"

His gaze drifted back to the man and he fought to keep his eyes open.

"Daryl, we're at the CDC, but it's a bit of a walk to the entrance. I'm gonna support you, but I'ma need you to try your damndest to stay awake and upright until we get inside. Can you do that for me?"

In any other circumstance, Daryl would have balked at another man insisting on helping him walk forty goddamn feet, but even as he tried pulling himself to a sitting position, and instantly felt a flutter of woozy lightheadedness, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it without help.

He blinked hard, trying to bring the world back into focus, and nodded his assent to the man beside him. The man reached to Daryl's arm and removed the IV placed in the back of his hand, and it was only then that Daryl realized he had anything attached to him. What the fuck had happened anyways? He could remember that 'bout as much as he remembered the two people standing before him.

The man handed the IV bag to the woman and she pinched of the line before placing it in a backpack. She slung the pack over her shoulder and looked to Daryl anxiously as the man stooped before him, helping to move his legs off of the narrow bed. Daryl swung his right arm over the man's shoulders and winced as a bolt of pain flared out from the wound on his chest. He looked down to see that he was wearing one of his sleeveless shirts, the buttons undone and the shirt hanging open, and a new, clean square swatch of gauze taking the place of the blood soaked bandage that had been wrapped around his chest when Andrea had woken him up about a million years ago.

He adjusted his arm about the man's shoulders and felt the pain abate somewhat as he straightened beside him. Daryl swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his throat enough to be able to speak. "Is Merle back from Atlanta? He comin' with us?"

The two exchanged worried glances. The woman spoke first, "I'm so sorry, Daryl. He's not coming. But we really don't have time to discuss it now. We need to move."

Daryl sagged against the man supporting him and his stomach, already nauseous from the simple movement of standing, clenched uneasily at her words. Merle was the only family he had left in this fucking world and now his brother was what? Missing? Dead? He didn't even have the strength to ask. He felt the man's arm tighten around his hip, the other arm coming up in front to press a steadying hand to his middle.

He began stepping forward, but Daryl held back. "At least give me my fuckin' crossbow, so I won't be completely useless out there."

The woman paused, then pulled his bow from her shoulder. Daryl shot her a reproachful glare. Who the hell did she think she was, thinkin' she could just use his shit? She loaded an arrow and passed the bow to him, sadness clouded in her eyes. A pang of guilt flicked inside of him, though he did not entirely understand why.

He tried to ignore the feeling and hefted the crossbow in his left hand. He wouldn't be able to reload another arrow as they made their way to the building, so he'd have to make his one shot count.

Daryl nodded tersely to the man at his side, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the woman, not wanting to feel that unexplainable guilt again.

They moved out of the RV slowly and were instantly hit with the almost overwhelming stench of decaying bodies. The victims of the apocalypse lay scattered all over the expansive yard leading to the CDC, some in civilian clothes, some in army fatigues, but not were moving.

Daryl looked to the darkening sky and tightened his arm about the man beside him; they didn't have much time to get inside of the building before they were all in full dark – a dangerous prospect for as populated a city as Daryl knew Glenridge to be.

They began moving forward, following as closely behind the other survivors in their group as possible. Daryl scanned the area around them for any movement, but his gaze was pulled, riveted, to the graceful movements of the woman as she stepped lightly beside him. She had produced a compound bow from somewhere, the same model he had seen her using in his dreams, and held it in her hands, an arrow nocked against the bowstring, ready for anything. And he somehow knew, with an absolute certainty that she was as deadly accurate with a bow as he was himself.

The sound of Rick banging on the closed doors of the CDC drug Daryl's attention from the woman. That jackass cop was gonna draw Walkers from fifty miles away with all that fuckin' noise.

Daryl's injuries had slowed him down considerably, and he fought to catch his breath as they neared the halfway mark to the CDC's entrance. The man beside him sensed his fatigue and stopped for a moment, letting Daryl sag against him to pant shallow breaths.

Rick continued to bang against the doors of the building amidst the sound of everyone else crying and carrying-on, and Daryl cringed; the fact that it was drawing on night was bad enough, but the sound of everyone raising fucking hell in the middle of a zombie infested city put all of them in a very desperate situation.

Movement from the corner of his eye, to the left, caught his attention. A Walker, dressed in filthy army fatigues, ambled toward them, moaning.

"Walker!" Daryl shouted as loud as he was able. Everyone in the group nearest the building huddled together against the closed doors, the children crying, the women screaming, nobody willing to do anything about the fucking zombie closing in on them.

Daryl wasted no time in bringing his crossbow up in his left hand, even though it felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. But before he could get off the shot, the woman beside him stepped forward and fired an arrow smoothly into the Walker's forehead. It slumped to the ground, in a boneless, crumpling motion.

He looked to the woman, their eyes connecting for one electric moment, and her lips curved into a small, sad smile. She opened her mouth, about to speak, but the man at Daryl's side, most likely her brother, cut her off.

"Not now, Afton," he said sternly. Daryl's heart fluttered momentarily at the sound of her name, though he could not rightly say why. "We need to get inside the building before dark." The man looked at Daryl. "Just a little further. You're doing great."

Daryl pulled in a shaky breath, trying to quiet his swimming head. "Let's do this," he said softly.

They began stepping forward and Daryl looked to the CDC looming before them. The fear and anxiety surrounding the small band of survivors at the doors was nearly palpable as he finally made his way to the group with Afton and her brother

Lori was shouting at Shane. "Forget Fort Benning! We need answers tonight! Now!" The whole group agreed loudly.

Daryl's legs trembled almost uncontrollably as he limped with Afton's brother the last few feet to the CDC's doors and fought to drag air into his lungs. "I need," he began roughly, "I need to sit down, man."

The man at his side laughed almost breathlessly, straining under Daryl's weight. "I let you sit down now, I might not be able to get you back up again."

Daryl groaned but did his best to stay upright, clutching weakly at the man's shoulder. Rick continued pounding on the closed doors of the CDC; it was looking more and more like there was no one even in the damn building. This whole trip had been a fucking bust.

But still Rick held onto the idea that they would be allowed inside, even as Shane tried pulling him back from the doors. "The security camera! It moved!" he shrieked.

Shane stood before him, shoving him back toward the yard they had just crossed. "It's an automated device. Let's move!"

Their small group began moving back frightenedly and Daryl had to consciously bite back the cry of desperation rising in his throat. There was absolutely no fucking way that he'd be able to make it back to the RV now – he literally did not have the strength to do it. His crossbow fell from his hand, clattering loudly on the sidewalk, and he reached up to grasp at Afton's brother's shirtfront.

"Oh, god, Daryl!" Afton came up beside him, moving his arm from her brother's shirt and looping it around her shoulders. "Brian, we need to move him back to the RV."

"I can't," Daryl whispered. Afton's eyes flew to his. "I can't do it."

Shane brushed past them briskly, shotgun held out before him. "Alright, people, keep your eyes open. We're moving out!"

Afton looked to her brother anxiously as their group began making their way across the darkened yard quickly, dodging dead bodies.

Rick was still at the doors, frantically shouting at the security camera. "We're desperate! Please help us! Women and children, no food, hardly any gas left! You're fucking killing us!"

Lori shouted at Rick from across the yard, Carl huddled close to her body, "Let it go!"

And just as Daryl felt his legs give way beneath him, felt the drowsy pull of unconsciousness darkening the edges of his vision, the doors to the CDC suddenly opened, washing the yard in the most comforting glare of artificial light Daryl had ever seen.

Afton stooped slightly to retrieve Daryl's crossbow from the ground and hitched it across her shoulder before grasping Daryl's hand and tightening her arm behind his back. She nodded to Brian and they made their way into the building along with the other members of their group.

She glanced to Daryl, a relieved smile curving her lips. "Let's get you into bed, cowboy."

He grinned weakly and limped along between Brian and Afton, his heart fluttering wildly at that last word; it hit him like a bolt of electric déjà vu, a word that should have no right to affect him in such a way. _Cowboy._


	9. Chapter 9

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC's Afton and Brian_

_*Sorry it took me so long to post a new chapter; my muse seemed to have abandoned me for a time. Hopefully were back on track now ^_^_

Afton blinked her eyes open rapidly, shocked awake by a nightmare that was already beginning to fade. And she didn't really have to guess at what the dream had been about; they had all been the same since her life-altering experience on that deserted Interstate in downtown Atlanta, when she had (_died_) taken out those two Walkers – pain and chaos-filled, a relentlessly looped reliving of her death that over the last two nights had mercilessly pulled her from any form of restful sleep.

She sat up, scrambling to find her pink bow feather in the tangle of sheets on her bed as her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she suddenly remembered she was in one of the fully furnished, generator powered rooms in the underground dorms in the CDC. Edwin Jenner, the facility's only remaining inhabitant had shown Afton and Brian, as they carried a nearly unconscious Daryl between them, to the rooms after he had finally opened the CDC's doors to their group.

Afton turned and quickly flicked the bedside table lamp on, mentally forcing her breathing to a steady rate, and promptly located her feather up near her pillow. She clutched it tightly to her chest and felt a soothing calm settle over her. Letting out a long sigh, she looked around the room. The bedside lamp cast her small underground quarters in a soft glow, subtly illuminating the prim writing desk in the corner, the dresser against the far wall, and the efficient twin sized bed she was sitting on. There were no windows by which to judge the time, but Afton's internal clock had always been fairly accurate and she figured it to be close to three or four in the morning.

She got up from the bed, knowing full well that sleep was now a lost cause and dressed quickly in jeans and a tee shirt. She padded barefoot to the bedroom door, carefully making sure that her feather was still nestled in her palm, and stepped into the hallway of the darkened quarters she now shared with Brian and Daryl. She heard her brother's soft snores coming from the living room to her left at the end of the short hallway. Brian had volunteered to sleep on the couch after Jenner had shown them to the largest apartment available in the cluster of the CDC's dorms and they found that even though it was the largest, it only contained two twin-sized beds in separate rooms. Afton had been grateful for the chance to sleep in a real bed, hoping against hope that she'd finally get a full night's sleep. It didn't seem like it had mattered.

She gave her feather a comforting squeeze and turned to the right, heading the short distance to Daryl's room, feeling her heart splintering more and more with each step she took.

Daryl had held onto consciousness long enough for them to get him situated in the bed and had thanked them breathlessly, but his eyes had still held the skeptical distrustfulness that he had centered on Afton and Brian both during their walk from the RV. He had slipped away again shortly thereafter and Afton had fought very hard to contain the tear-filled hopelessness that had welled inside her. She had asked Brian if Daryl would ever regain any memory of her. Brian had said he couldn't say for sure, time would tell. She had walked numbly to her room then, not even coming out when Jenner had tried coaxing her to the cafeteria to join the rest of the group for a meal.

Afton shook the painfully fresh memories away sadly and pulled in a shaky breath as she stood at the threshold of Daryl's darkened room. She knew she was in love with him, her heart practically ached with the ferocity of it; she also knew, with a glaringly clear conviction, that she would _always_ love him, would always cherish the moments they had shared, even if Daryl himself couldn't.

She stepped into the room slowly, wanting, _needing_, to hear the reassuringly steady cadence of his breathing – needing to make sure he was okay, especially now, when she had come so close to losing him more than once in the span of twenty-four short hours.

She walked the short distance to his bed in the dark and stopped, canting her head to the side and listening intently. Silence was the only sound that greeted her. Dread clenched at her heart painfully and her breath caught in her throat.

"Daryl?" She stepped forward slowly on shaky legs and reached her hand out toward where she knew the bed to be, miserably trying to prepare herself for the event that his body had finally just given out, that her fingers would touch on the coldness of his skin where once there had been such an incredible and enveloping warmth. She felt such a keening emptiness in that split-second of a moment as her hand reached out and she was utterly unsure of how she would even be able to function in this fucked world without him.

Her hand touched on the soft ripples of the wrinkled sheets on the bed. On the empty bed. She swallowed hard and her hand flew swiftly to the bedside lamp, flipping the switch with trembling, numb fingers. The room was suddenly illuminated in a soft wash of warm light.

She stood looking dumbly at the empty bed before her. The hypodermic needle from the PICC line that had been placed in Daryl's arm to deliver antibiotics and a simultaneous saline drip trailed faint lines of blood from where they had been ripped from his skin.

Afton placed her hand flat against the bed, feeling the last remnants of his body heat still lingering on the sheets. He had been taken from the bed no more than ten minutes prior, probably at about the time she had awoken disoriented and frightened from her nightmare. She had been so distracted she had not even heard anyone in the hallway outside of her room.

She rushed back to her room and quickly grabbed her bow and quiver from her bedside, forgoing the extra time it would take to step into her sneakers, and padded silently on her bare feet to the apartment door. She spared a quick glance at Brian as he slept heavily on the couch, before slipping noiselessly out the entrance. She needed to find Daryl, and knew she wouldn't hesitate in delivering swift justice to the one who had taken him from his bed.


End file.
